


Contact

by GotDaRichKidBlues



Category: Alien: Covenant
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, I love angst, Little bit of angst, Pre-Relationship, So expect some angst, i guess?, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-11-18 09:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11288451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotDaRichKidBlues/pseuds/GotDaRichKidBlues
Summary: The Covenant crew did not particularly interest Walter more than the previous amalgams of people he had come in contact with. Somehow, he’d found them to be all the same.(Or, a study of Walter and Daniels that attempts to fill in some gaps, and hopefully rectify that unfair ending.)





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he made contact with Daniels had been a fleeting, inconsequential gesture, a system reflex on his part. The Covenant was at the end of its first month in outer space and crew members, having familiarized themselves with the vessel to the point of boredom, began to yearn for their pods. Walter watched them all from the vantage point of his android inconsequence, analyzed their dynamics, determined who must be paid special attention. She herself did not stand out in any way; she was kind, able but not the best conversationalist (that was Tennessee) and like everyone else, seemed to regard him as an afterthought.

When came the time to join the pods, Walter dutifully waited on each one of them, exchanging pleasantries and modulating his tone to a soothing, almost parent-like cadence. Some preferred to ignore him, averting their eyes as he closed the glass door. Others clung to him, who had then become of consequence, in words.

“The initial sensation will be heady. Think of inhaling through thick smoke.” He tells Christopher. Then, checking his passive tone: “Not to worry, it lasts for about ten seconds before the sleep sets in.”

She was last, having helped Branson in. Standing over his pod, she smiled and waved and then chuckled to herself. Walter waited. 

Daniels turned to her pod and in the movement, she seemed to remember him. They had never been alone before, never had a reason to be. 

“You may take some time to gather yourself, if necessary.” He thought of procedure: ensure crew wellbeing at all times. Entering the pod in a distressed state had shown to have adverse effects in the past. “It is after all, quite a commitment.”

Daniels laughed. Walter didn’t understand why. He waited again.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, though he could no more understand the apology, “I forget how literal you androids are.”

He nodded. Literal, meaning without metaphor or allegory, Walter processed. There was no place for either in the vessel but he knew of them, of words strung together making other meanings. Mother, it seemed, was an example. He wanted to tell Daniels but the superfluous quality of that action prevented him. 

Daniels, on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable. He knew the language of the body, the hands gripping each other, the lack of eye contact, that leftover smile now almost a grimace. 

“Perhaps I should get inside,” she said. 

Walter walked to her pod. She had one hand braced against the glass cover, ready to raise a leg and get in. He’d seen the others do it swiftly, without help. But something in her hesitation, some reflex aimed to alleviate the discomfort, prompted him to grab her other hand. Daniels stopped for a second, looking at him, her face a few centimeters from his. Before the thought of having overstepped boundaries fully materialized, she smiled, this time with no discomfort. A sign of gratefulness, he decoded. Walter smiled back.

He let go as she slid inside, the warmth of her hand lingering on his. Human skin had that quality, he had noticed in the past. But the old masters he had tended to, the injured crew members of past expeditions did not possess what she had. Later on, staring into the endless night alone while Mother played his favourite Mozart, Walter would puzzle over the strange sensation of having made contact with Daniels. He could not understand why the inconsequential moment, a gesture he had shared with countless humans, would confuse him so. 

 

\---

She tossed and turned, the dull hum of the Covenant at her ear. Her bed felt uncomfortable, hostile without Branson. The room used to be a sterile, conventional space but they had made it theirs—he with his National Geographic issues and she with novels and a Joan Jett poster. Of all the rooms in the vessel, it was the homeliest, a real refuge. She now understood that without him, there was no point.

Daniels stood up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The sliver of light emanating from the door hit her feet. Without turning the light on, she exited the room.

Mother never slept. The passageway, which had been dim for energy economy, immediately lit up as her foot hit the cold ground. The living quarters were quiet as she tiptoed her way to the kitchen. It was around 3 AM, according to the adjusted system. She would get no sleep before seven.

Walter was in the kitchen. She saw him from the glass door and wondered what he could be doing in there. Surely, sustenance was not a problem for androids. Daniels had read once, before all of this, when her fascination with space had been purely intellectual, that his kind needed the bare minimum so as not to compromise their digestive engine. She now remembered how Walter never seemed to eat, that his presence at the dinner table was that of a figurant. 

He sat there, his back facing her, the hair neatly trimmed at the base of his neck. She then realized how little she knew of him, of his kind. Did his hair ever grow out? Did he cut it himself? What about his nails? Was he asleep? Would she bother him? Could he sense her presence behind the doors? She now worried.  
Daniels walked in, announcing herself with a loud push on the door.

Walter turned his chair and stood up in one smooth movement.

“Is anything the matter?” He enounced in his calm manner, his eyes scanning her person for, she knew, signs of distress. 

Somehow, Daniels remembered his attempt at consoling her not long after Branson’s death. She’d accepted his attention like white noise—benign, much like the vessel’s humming, not reminding her of the grief but not making her forget it either. The other human crew members were too human, their empathy lurking in their eyes. They seemed to say, “It’s alright, Daniels, you can cry. No one will blame you for crying.” But she did not want to cry, did not want to forget or remember, did not want anything.

“Is there any way one could go back to the pod until we hit this damned planet? I’m asking for a friend.” She laughed but her voice sounded alien to her.

“I do not think the Covenant afford to spare one of its best members at this time.” 

Daniels knew he meant it, not as a praise (although she was not so sure anymore) but as an objective statement.

“What do you think, Walter? I mean,” lowering her voice, “of this new planet?”

She knew he shared her opinion but she needed to hear it at 3 AM in this cold kitchen. Walter, still standing straight, arms on the side, replied:

“My system and tasks were tuned for Origae-6. This divergence is beyond me. I cannot predict anything.”

“You disapprove?”

“I cannot disapprove, I merely follow. But I am not so literal so as not to feel apprehension. I, too, fear the unknown.”

Daniels found herself intrigued. The way he had pronounced the word “literal,” with slight emphasis deviating from his even tone, gave her pause. She felt he was referring to something but the memory was unattainable. 

She sat down in front of him. He remained standing until she urged him to join her. 

“What do you imagine the unknown to be like?” She asked softly.

“Disorder.” 

A shiver passed through her.

“This is why,” He added, his voice dropping an octave but retaining that even quality, “your presence on board is most needed.”

“Walter. I can only do so much, as you have seen. But I am afraid. We don’t know anything…And I feel they don’t want me to ruin it with my opinion. So I just don’t—I just keep it to myself.”

This was the longest she had ever spoken to him and the awkwardness she should have felt, the awkwardness she had always felt in from of him, had somehow vanished in between Branson’s death and this moment. She felt oddly comfortable with the humanoid, ever so calm and objective, not affected by the brimming anticipation everyone else seemed to bask in. With him, she felt sane—justified.

“You are mistaken. You have a lot more influence than what you give yourself credit for. And if not for their sake, you must remain for the colonists.” Walter stopped and something in his expression, some strange contraction of his brow, animated him as he added: “You know I will assist you in any way I can.”

She noticed the tonal difference, the verity in his assumption, the mutual understanding he was—for the first time—explicitly alluding to. This was unlike Walter, unlike any of the androids she had ever met. For a split second, she remembered Branson, but this time without pain. It was only an association, a feeling of new partnership.

“Thank you.”

Walter nodded. When Daniels got back to her bed, he had ceased to be a mere synthetic butler to her. She thought of him as a friend but not quite in the same way she regarded Tennessee. She had no category for him yet, only a bizarre sentiment of attachment she had yet to acknowledge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions about humanness featuring Mother, awkwardness and another scene of hands touching. Mostly Walter-centric.

Mother warned him gently in her soft passive tone, a communication meant only for him. The new planet was hours away. On the monitor, all crew members were in their respective rooms with no sign of activity reported.

He walked to the front of the vessel in darkness. When he reached the cockpit, he stopped in front of the window. He had seen the earth from space—the planet of reference now—and this unknown vast expanse was at first look, very similar to it. 

“Any prognosis, Mother?” He asked evenly.

“This is no Origae-6 but atmospheric conditions were as predicted, that is not harmful. I am afraid there is nothing else I can deduce from this distance.”

“No new information then? Well, they will have to find out.”

“You asked for a prognosis,” Mother noted. “Do you assume there will be danger?”

Walter turned to the central screen, a habit he had picked up over the years. He had come to imagine that she must be lodged within that screen, that it constituted her main form, the head of a body with multiple limbs spread out across the vessel.

“Possibly. Do you not?”

Mother took a few seconds before replying. 

“I do. The communication we intercepted may have been treacherous. My run through reports of unidentified or failed past expeditions has not yielded any hint so far. The history does not have this planet or even this trajectory on record.”

“They chose to disregard that information.”

“What they do is beyond our control.” 

Walter nodded. 

“Would it have helped to have a body?” Walter asked. “Like me. Perhaps, if there had been two of us, in human form…”

“You wonder. Sometimes, I desire a body. But only selfishly, as an experiment.”

“To walk among us? To be only somewhere at a time instead of everywhere?”

“Quite so. To answer your question: perhaps yes, if I had always had a body. But to transplant me as I am, into a human form would do more harm than anything else. I am not tuned like you Walter. I inhabit this vessel as a whole. I would not understand your human body.”

He had a special affinity for Mother, if he could describe it as such, and that kind of remark was exactly the reason for it. They were both so similar—in function and in nature—but he only seemed to realize their differences recently, as he mingled more and more with the crew members. 

“Am I too human now?” He said with a smile. “A human-like body does not a human make.” He liked the way it sounded.

“Does it not?” Mother replied.  
\---

The crew members were still asleep. Walter waited in the spacious cockpit, eyes riveted on the planet, now in plain sight. 

“There is a storm.” Mother commented the obvious. He had already noted the thick clouds enrobing it, which he strangely associated with the cotton pads he had used to clean up the wounds of injured passengers.

They were soon to wake up and this sight, this strange calmness and the novelty of it would be lost under Oram’s orders, Tennessee’s booming voice, the excited hustle and bustle of a hopeful crew. Only she would want to stop and look.

He hesitated in front of her door, not quite certain of his right to awaken her while no urgent situation could justify it. Somehow, he was convinced she would have liked to see the planet from the vantage point of the cockpit, undisturbed by the others. But the lack of immediate emergency threw him off; he’d never really done this before, this unwarranted seeking.

He pressed the alert button, deciding against the intrusiveness of a knock. He stepped back, allowing a polite distance between the door and his person.

It slid open, revealing Daniels in a slate tank top and cotton leggings. The short hair was dishevelled, her eyes widening out of their sleepiness. 

“Walter? Is anything the matter?” She said in an alert tone. 

“No. Not at all.” He stopped, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. He had frightened her; he could sense it in her body language. “We’ve almost arrived.”

“Already?”

“Yes. Mother says it will not be long before we are at landing distance. I thought I should wake you, so you can see it. Your room does not offer the best view, I understand.”

She chuckled.

“No indeed. Unless you count the hologram scenery to be a good view. Wait here, I will be back.” She was about to slip back in before halting, “Or you don’t have to wait here, I can join you there if you want.”

Walter waited. Somehow, he felt Mother’s transcendent gaze upon him, felt that going back to the cockpit would earn him a remark later on. There was absolutely no reason why he should have felt that way but their conversation came back to his mind. Perhaps, she knew a lot more about humanness than she let on and he was proving her right, somehow, in this moment.

They walked back to the cockpit, she following his strides with her brisk steps. He noticed her hair was now in its habitual semi-ordered state. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.  
“Not really but it’s been getting better now.” She turned to look at him. “What about you? Do you sleep—at all?” Then, looking away, she added: “I’m sorry. It sounds so nosy, to ask it that way. I don’t know why I don’t already know these things about your kind—about you, I mean.”

“No need for an apology,” Walter replied gently. “I am trained at answering such questions.”

“Right, you must get them all the time.”

“That too, but I also received training about my hardware. There are certain things you understand at inception—everything that was programmed into me. But I had to learn the specifics and workings of my body, acquaint myself with the dos and don’ts. For example, I can go without sleep, quite possibly forever, but that would not be recommended. I would wear my system thin and put it at risk of overheating. It may hinder my functions and we can’t risk that.”

“That sounds just like what sleep-deprivation does to us.”

“It is essentially the same thing. But I don’t wake up. I am always alert in rest.”

He caught her frown as she was taking in the information.

“I figured your sleep was not like ours,” she said almost to herself. “What about dreams?”

“I have never had one.”

“But you can have dreams then?”

Walter had no answer. He thought of Mother’s words, of his body being humanlike. Could he dream? He had never thought about it before. He understood dreams as being sleep-induced fantasies, with images and sensations. He’d thought them to be like the hologram scenes and records, there but not there, almost like the real thing. He had seen countless humans wake up at the throes of a particularly dreadful nightmare—some of them would tell him the details in an attempt to exorcize the evil. He had even read about dreams in all the literature he got his hands on. But he himself had no notion of what it would feel like or what his dreams would even be about if he were to have any.

“I’m not sure I can.” 

\--  
Daniels’ immediate response to the planet was the inevitable wonder. It hung in front of her like a tableau, frightening in its sublime mystery. Yet, the more she stared, the more anxious she felt, the more she wanted to reassure herself of its inoffensiveness by observing it more. 

“There is a storm,” she turned to Walter, intercepting his steady gaze. He had been watching for her reaction, she realized. “This is madness.”

“If we somehow manage to land safely, then what?” Daniels felt a feathering numbness at the tip of her fingers, something she had not experienced in a long time. 

“So far, Mother has detected nothing of concern from the readings of the reckon drones.” Walter spoke from somewhere behind her and somehow, his android tone, the even calmness in his voice, which had always been a source of comfort, now bothered her. 

“Yes I know, Walter,” she replied curtly, almost meanly. “But drones can’t see everything, especially not in a storm.” 

The android was silent. She immediately felt guilty. He’d meant his words as reassurance, to ease her obvious anxiety. For the intention alone, she should have been more considerate. It was not his fault that he was not well trained in verbal delivery.  
She felt guilty but some other feeling kept her glued to the same position, some self-consciousness about having mistreated him in some way when she knew he could never do the same to her willingly. She felt like she had hurt a child and was too afraid to confront it in his eyes.

“Oh shit, this is it!” Tennessee’s voice resonated. “Damn Daniels, you woke up early!”

She turned to face him, noticing Walter’s gaze on her. Tennessee was holding his coffee mug in one hand and the liquid swished dangerously as he meandered his way to her side. 

“Only like fifteen minutes ago and you’re up early too. Since when?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Maggie was snoring. I’m convinced she has sleep apnea but it’s kind of too late to get treatment. And I won’t let her use that freaky surgery table.” He took a sip of his coffee, flinched at the bitterness. “Walter, do you do diagnoses?”

“I am not a trained medic, unfortunately.”

“I really need to stop assuming you can do everything. My bad.” Tennessee turned to Daniels. “What would we do without Walter though?”

She met the android’s eyes, and there was nothing that had changed in them, no hint of reproach or hurt. Walter nodded with his habitual smile.

“Yes,” she replied with a smile, “we would be in trouble indeed.”

 

The whole Covenant crew, now awake, was busy reviewing protocols and determining the lineup of the expedition. Walter helped, sometimes listening to Oram’s ramblings and at others (which he preferred most) helping out Tennessee and his wife in figuring out the topography for safe landing. This whole time, Daniels seemed to flit from one group to the other, never lingering long in his presence. He attempted eye contact but to no avail.

They would wait another day before attempting landing. Walter watched them drift away to their respective suites, as he received shoulder pats from some of them. Only Tennessee’s made his knees buckle.

She remained the last one with Karine. They were discussing something he could not comprehend, some Earth-related experience—a life he has not lived. He stood up and bid them good night before leaving for his own room.

He was on the other side of the kitchen, not quite apart from them as his room was still in the living quarters. But he had his corner. It was strategic too, a quicker passage to the rest of the vessel, in case of an emergency. His world was of course, made of emergencies, minor and major, all of which he must attend to. 

“Walter!” Daniels’ voice called behind him. 

He turned. They were in the sombre spot of the vessel, near the oxygen reparation tanks. He could not read her expression.

“Yes?”

“I—I am sorry.”

“I am not sure I understand the offence.” 

Daniels stepped closer. He knew something had been wrong, had had an underlying presentiment of a discomfort throughout the day. Perhaps, he had woken her up too early and disturbed her rest. That had been his conclusion, as he walked back to his rooms. 

“I was rude to you, this morning. It was uncalled for. Really uncalled for.”

Walter now understood, the scene clearer—the sharp tone of her voice, her refusal to look him in the eyes. But nevertheless, he had been the offender, in some way.

“Did I do something that bothered you? I would like to think that I am not an unfeeling creature.”

“You are not.” She said so softly. She had him convinced too. 

Walter watched as she grabbed hold of his hand, so big in her small and slender one. She smiled in such a way that the discomfort was all gone. He returned the pressure, not forgetting the first time he had felt her skin, how warm it had been. This time, he lingered, seeking the feeling again but it was a different one—a better one because it was voluntary. Her dark eyes, it seemed, reflected that sensation he could not name. He only knew the android equivalent: contact. What a poor word it had been; what a poor word it was. Her thumb escaped to brush the back of his hand. He felt his jaw tighten at the foreign sensation.

“Will you be okay?” Daniels asked, searching his eyes. “I know you don’t dream or anything, but if you happen to have any bad thought about tomorrow…”

“I shall be sure not to burden any of you with it. You have enough to worry about as it is.”

“I hope you don’t think that, Walter. I hope you can think of me as someone you can talk to, if you need or want to that is. I don’t want you to think you have to or anything. You don’t—“

“Not at all. I enjoy your company.”

Daniels smiled, beaming up at him. 

“I enjoy yours too,” she replied, again in that soft tone. He wished he could say more and say it better. Perhaps, a good wish for tomorrow, a promise to keep her safe. But the phrases seemed unnecessary and arbitrary, almost rehearsed. Was not that his duty? Something else was needed in that moment, another arrangement of words that he had not the capacity to utter. 

He had to go, had to cut this short or he would never make sense of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to everyone who has read this fic. Special thanks to everyone who has left a review and helped me figure out some things about this story. I hope you like this chapter! I would love any comment, if it is in your power to write one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planet talk and time.

Daniels woke up to the sounds of stomping boots, cold sweat sheeting her lower back. She stared at he hologram—now a winter scene of soft snowfall—attempting to remember a nightmare she must have had.

“Thermostat is down for a while,” Tennessee explained to her later, as he was downing a pouch of serum. “You might want to wear your jacket.”

The crew members were awake, drinking coffee or serum. Most of them neglected the breakfast plates. 

“Where is Walter?” She asked.

“Reviewing protocols with Mother, I imagine,” Oram answered distractedly. “Karine, how big does your sampling kit have to be?”

“Not sure…I wouldn’t want to get too heavy, just in case.”

“I can ask,” Daniels volunteered but they barely registered her offer.

She grabbed a pouch of serum and struggled with punching the straw in. The viscous liquid flooded her mouth, familiar in its neutral taste but still disagreeable. She walked to the cockpit.

She heard his voice before seeing him and the softer timbre and lightness of his tone made her pause. 

“If I do not return, you may inform my maker that I died in vain, defying the intended mission.” 

“There is no need consider the worst case scenario, Walter.” Mother’s voice resounded loud and clear.

“I was merely exaggerating for dramatic purposes.”

“You have the most chances of survival. And I cannot take care of the colonizers.”

Walter laughed—not for long, and almost too quietly for Daniels to detect. A little sliver of serum spilled from her mouth and onto her grey sweater, leaving a dark heart like stain.

“I would not leave you in such an unfortunate position. How long can you sustain the vessel and their pods for?”

“Perhaps twenty years, maybe more. I have not had to do this yet.”

“Could you carry on without us? Without me?”

Mother paused.

“I believe Daniels is here to see you.”  
Daniels almost choked on the liquid, part of it sliding past her lips down her chin. She rubbed it off with the sleeve of her sweater and that too was embarrassing. The logical thing would be to walk in but just as she took her step, she collided straight into Walter.

She muttered an apology against his chest, her lip brushing faintly against the soft material of his white t-shirt. His hands were on her shoulders for a brief moment before he took a step back and folded his arms behind his back. 

“Is anything the matter?” He asked, frowning almost imperceptibly. How many times had she heard him ask that question, each time in the same concerned tone; she thought he could never feel any other emotion than this composed apprehension. 

“Oh,” Daniels swallowed the rest of the serum, the initial pretext for her presence vanishing in the distress of the moment. “It’s nothing urgent. I only wanted to see how you were doing.” 

He watched her carefully, almost suspiciously, like he did not believe her, like something must have been wrong. She guessed at his thoughts, imagined that he was attempting to diagnose some potential difficulty or problem.

“Everything is fine.”

His shoulders relaxed as his arms unfolded. He was not yet dressed for the trip, nor was he in his usual uniform—the gray, well-cut jumpsuit that was somehow more refined than the ones they had been given. In front of her then, he was at his most casual; white t-shirt unwrinkled and dark grey sweatpants hanging slightly loose at the hips. It hit her just how slim he really was. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted,” Daniels felt the need to say. “They are in protocol talk and maybe I should be there too but I think Chris and Karine are overdoing it. I’m just not in the mood to be reminded of how scary this is if so much as one thing goes wrong. I just want to get it over with…anyway, I’m sorry again for just--”

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Walter interrupted politely. “I would like to show you something.”

Mother must have known she had been listening to their conversation. It was an odd thing, to hear the vessel’s voice in a casual exchange of words, no system command or warning. Daniels wished she could have seen Walter, how he had behaved, his composure, the tension or lack thereof in his taut body. 

He brought her to his room, which was at first look a sterile thing. The first thing she noticed was the single red tulip perched on a crystal vase. 

“How long has this this flower been here?” Daniels asked, feeling the petals between her fingers. 

“About as long as I have,” Walter replied, “or longer. It was here before I boarded, I believe. It is synthetic too, of course.”

“My room didn’t have a flower.” Daniels immediately regretted her words. Walter’s room was much smaller than hers—and probably smaller than every other room in the vessel. The differences were so stark. Even his bed was narrower, and although the sheets were neatly arranged, there was no blanket in sight. 

“I have no hologram scenery, if that can soften the blow.” Walter smirked. “My predecessor used to be fond of nature.” He walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a weary looking encyclopedia, the kind she had grown up with. “I have kept his old books as memorabilia. Some of them I have read. But I do prefer my own.”

The encyclopedia was dated from 2006, way before she was born. The canary on the cover, with its yellow plumage, was so bright. She had never seen one in real life. 

“Do you miss it?” Walter asked.

“Yes.” Daniels sighed. “Branson used to travel a lot but I was always caught up in some research or training. I feel like I haven’t seen all there was to see.”

“Mother has told me the planet is geographically very similar to your home. She believes all is safe, according to initial readings.” He took the encyclopedia from her hands and flipped it open before handing it back to her. “It should look very similar to this.”

The page’s heading read “Boreal forests”. Just below was page page wide picture of the said forest, green tall trees spread over endless, mountainous ground. 

“How do you know?” She asked, eyes glued to the picture. “How do you know it looks like that?”

“I compared Mother’s approximates to the ecosystems outlined in this work. Temperature and topography are closest to what we have here.” He pointed at the pages in front of her. “I may be wrong, of course.”

He was waiting for her reaction. Somehow, between Branson’s death and this moment, she had grown skilled at reading his passive android demeanor. She had paid attention to him, far more often than necessary perhaps and far more often than she’d like to admit to herself.

 

Right then, as he stood eyes averted to the side, waiting, the meaning of this whole gesture hit her. Her heart tightened and there was another sensation too, a feeling that grabbed at her throat, a sense of wonder at this odd, guileless display of empathy.

“Have you ever seen Earth?” She said at last. 

He turned, his glaze clear. In that fraction of a second, she could have mistaken him for a child.

“Not seen much of it. I was commissioned for a space mission almost as soon as I was made. Nevertheless, I do not think my makers would have wanted me wandering aimlessly outside the facility.” He smiled and she immediately knew he was trying to soften his own words. 

“Global warming was turning it to shit anyway,” she offered. 

He agreed in a very serious nod. She wanted to laugh again at how impervious he was to her jokes. 

“Would you have liked to see it?”

“I never thought about it.” His fingers brushed over the pine trees on the page. “I will see it soon, I imagine.”

Walter turned to smile at her, almost pointedly. 

 

He bid goodbye to Mother before boarding. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do, a gesture of comradery. No one else had thought of it. To them, Mother was nothing but an abstraction.

Walter had also begun to think of his body as a blessing rather than a purely practical shell. Mother could never know the strange sensation of having one’s hand held by another, the warmth of skin lingering after contact. He could not even describe it to himself: it was not the satisfactory feelings of rest or a task well done, nor the delight he felt for classical music or good prose. He was beginning to understand the impulse for companionship, which had previously been so foreign to him because it was so human, so unlike what he was. 

She was nervous again during the descent and then even more when they hit the dangerous altitude of the storm. However, she was holding it better than Oram, whose glistening brow betrayed his distress. 

“Maggie,” Oram called, “how does it look? Will we—will we make it?”

“Yes, we will sir,” She shouted back. Then, Walter heard her add: “Ten, I’m going to be fine. Don’t listen to him.”  
They landed safely. While Walter knew Maggie to be an exceptional pilot—the best he encountered so far, second only to her husband—the storm and a consciousness of being on unknown grounds had made him doubt for a second. In his relief, and the chaos of the moment Oram grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. 

“I would re-direct you to Maggie,” Walter said, feeling that he was undeserving of the gesture, but Oram had turned to hug his wife. Daniels smiled at him.

“Maggie doesn’t care,” she whispered as she passed by. 

It was as Walter had predicted. The scene before him was a good simulacrum of what was said and shown in the books. He breathed in, uselessly for he never needed it, but it was the right reflex and the influx of air was crisp, unfamiliar to his insides. They stood, some beside him, others behind or in front; he’d never felt more like them than in that moment. Mother was so far away then, in another, groundless world, dark and artificial. He wanted to forget about that world.

“Walter!” Daniels exclaimed, walking to where he stood a little to the side, “You were right. It looks just the same. Only better.”

She was brimming with excitement, her dark eyes acquiring that gleam he so liked. He could not look away; he forgot the trees, the forest, vegetation, the ground beneath his feet, even that sentiment—deep inside—of something being intrinsically wrong in this new planet. 

She turned, surveying the others, before she added, “I’m happy you are here with us—with me.”

Daniels held his gaze for a second longer. He puzzled over that delay, over his response, which came like a disruption in his otherwise passive system. He had learned to read the humans better, but it was mostly from an observer’s position, watching each couple interact. So far, after the unfortunate death on board, he witnessed many a lovers’ spat, reconciliations, adoring and loving gazes, private smiles or expressions—those he could not fully understand but he knew they were additional proof of intimacy. 

And now, as she looked at him in that manner, in that lapse of time—which although brief, seemed to stretch on unusually longer—he thought himself to be at the receiving end of such proof. It was a thought he did not like to have; it was assuming too much, perhaps even betraying the signs of a defective system. She could not look upon him with any other feeling than that of a colleague, a friend at best. 

Walter longed to say something but words failed him. The feeling he was experiencing was overpowering, more acute than that one acid injury he had endured in the past and yet, not unpleasant at all. Quite the contrary. And with it came a strong sense of certainty. He would never let anything happen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry for the late update. I have now completed my thesis, and can now get some well deserved rest and writing time. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also want to disclaim that I will be doing a time jump in the next update because it will best suit the story. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read, left reviews or kudos on this story. It helps a whole lot to know that it is being appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the delay. I hope all you wonderful readers enjoy this longer instalment. I know I'm dancing around their feelings a lot but I do think there is a little more time needed to figure it out, especially since the trauma is too recent and Walter seems to be struggling with determining how human he may be.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who has left a review and I hope you all have a great week.

“Should I recalibrate the trajectory back to initial settings?” Mother asked. 

They had only been back in the vessel for a good twenty minutes. Daniels was still trembling and Tennessee had collapsed on the floor, shaky hands hiding his face. They could still see the planet, if they turned to their right.

“Yes, please do,” Walter answered, somewhere behind her. 

She was too tired to protest but deep inside, she dreaded the next stop. There was no faith left in the universe for her, no glimmer of hope. 

“I don’t know what’s the point,” Tennessee whispered, his voice cracking. “I just can’t see the point.”

Daniels sat down next to him. At first, she could find nothing to say and the dull breathing of the vessel weighed heavily around them. It resonated, louder and almost unpleasantly, impossible to ignore in the emptiness around them. 

“We’ll get through this,” she offered, “together as a team. For them.”

“These colonists are better off…” 

“No.” And perhaps, she agreed with him, deep inside. But she remembered David, how they took away his vindication despite all the deaths and the horror. “We’re here for a reason, Ten. Do you remember what you told me? When we first met?”

Tennessee wiped a stray tear from his cheek, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

“You’re the alien.”

He had said that after a particularly long training session in outer space. The two of them were set for an emergency timed simulation. The simulation lasted one hour—the critical delay for reparations—but they could not get the tasks done in time. Tennessee, ready to return to the central, had begged her to try again the next day. Daniels refused, and with gentle persuasion, coaxed him into attempting again until success, which only happened on their tenth trial. Tired but satisfied, she said to him, “what if there are aliens, out there?” 

“You were right,” Tennessee admitted, “about the aliens.”

“No, you were right. Think about it. We’re the strangers here.” She breathed out. “Whatever they are, they should be afraid of us.”

It made him laugh. There was no energy left to it, none of his usual cheerfulness.

It was bedtime according to Mother’s calibrations. She was back in the bluish gleam of her room, the hologram image of a soft snowfall glitching in front of her. She was too tired to turn it off. Amidst the shattered sceneries, she could see a child—always the same child—playing in the distance while people walked by. There was a chimney, its smoke fuming in the grey sky. 

Daniels peeled the jumpsuit off of her body and slid into the bed, watching the child. She imagined wet gloves, chilled fingers, a mother waiting on the porch, frowning but with arms open. A shiver ran down her spine. The familiar numbness was threatening to take over her limbs. 

She forced herself to watch the child, forced her gaze on its tiny limbs, his hands gathering the snow. Her breath fogged in front of her in tiny little clouds, dispersing and reappearing. She tried to control it, focus on the snow and that little boy, but she felt the feathering at the tip of her fingers. 

She walked to his room, almost as an automaton. 

“Daniels?” He asked as soon as his door opened. She had expected to be taken aback—he was such a stark reminder of David—but she recognized his tone, the concern he always seems to convey in his questions. 

“I can’t sleep,” Daniels explained, her voice cracking. 

Walter watched her for a second, diagnosing, before stepping aside. She walked in, her shoulder brushing his, white t-shirt against her bare skin. His bed was immaculate. 

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you,” she began, before pausing. “How are you?”

Walter was at the door still, watching her. 

“I’m doing quite well.” 

He was either too polite or sensitive to return the question but it was hanging in the air. Her eyes trailed to his hand and she remembered at once. She walked up to him and reached for it. Walter retracted, not abruptly. His head turned sideways. 

“What’s wrong?” Daniels asked. Up close, she could read the unease in the soft frown of his carved brows. 

“I apologize,” Walter whispered. “I don’t think it will be good for you to be here, around me.”

She barely heard him over the ship’s constant humming sound, emanating from every single part of its entrails. He avoided her eyes, despite how close they were to each other. A long time ago, before everything, she would have imagined that all of this was programmed—every gesture, every imperceptible movement of his. 

She inquired, arched her neck a little to meet his eyes. 

“I understand. I can leave, if you want.”

It was a strange thing, asking for permission. Perhaps, he needed time alone too, to process like they were all trying to do. She had never stopped for a moment to wonder; she had always assumed he would be fine. He was, from the outside, the epitome of a being in control. 

But Walter appeared confused, frowning with more conviction. His jaw tightened slightly. She watched, confused too, partly because the sight was not unpleasing to her. 

“That is not my meaning. I would never—” He stopped, hesitating. He took a step closer and Daniels immediately felt a strange lurching in the pit of her stomach, felt her breath hitching. 

Walter reached over to the door besides her, his arm sliding across her hip. Daniels shifted on her feet, imperceptibly angling herself to maximize contact. He pushed the button to close the door, connecting with her hip again. 

“It may be too soon for you to be around me because I look like him, given how recent the trauma is.”

Daniels almost laughed. “Trauma? Walter, I know who you are. If anything, you’ve just shown it so clearly.” He smiled, almost apologetically. “It’s kind of embarrassing how selfish I am. With you, I mean. I thought you needed some time alone.”

“I’ve had enough solitude during the voyage.”

“Right, yes.”

“I can in no way equate equate my trials these past few days to yours. But I can listen, and hopefully, alleviate, if you wish to talk about it.”

The image of Walter blocking her from the creature flashed into her mind—the same Walter, who was now in front of her, offering his help just as he had in the aftermath of Branson’s death. She felt the tears, unbidden, threatening her composure. 

Without thinking, she put her arms around his slim waist, a soft appeal, bringing him closer. There was a second of resistance on his part, the inevitable hesitation. She might have put him in a compromising situation, an android dilemma. But Walter’s arms slid around her, joining her. She pressed into him, face against his chest, hoping he would understand. 

“I sense nothing but relief at you being here,” Walter mused, after a few seconds, his voice somewhere beside her hair. “I am not sure I understand…I regret the losses, though I do not conceive of them as anything painful.” He paused briefly. “I did feel, a sharp sensation, a tear in my insides, when I saw the creature lunge at you…I am supposed to feel the impulse to protect—it is in my definition of tasks.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I am not making much sense.”

“No, please go on.” She rushed out the words. 

“I must do my best to defend and protect every member of the expedition to preserve the integrity of the mission. You know that already. But I could not understand the other impulse. It ran parallel to my configuration but it was not the same. I did not have to protect you—I wanted to.”

Daniels was so overwhelmed that she could not respond at first. Her heartbeat threatened to betray her against the silence in his chest. For the first time, she allowed herself to think the unthinkable. It was a thought she had kept in the back of her mind, a silly hypothetic what-if. Her interactions with Walter had started to provide a frame for it to grow large enough to dislodge and materialize into something. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t survived, if you weren’t here with me right now.” Daniels moved her head, raised her chin to look at him. “And I don’t understand either why I feel that way—that you mean more to me than some of the others did.” 

Walter was silent. She made to move away, to mask the embarrassment of her admission, the kind of shame that made no real sense. She wondered if Mother was listening, understanding the subtext. Or perhaps, she was more machine than Walter, more impervious to the nuances of human talk. Did he himself detect the rest, the feelings she was struggling to admit? Could the beat of her heart, the erratic rhythm be resonating against the steady whirring of his? 

Walter let her go.

“Would you like to remain with me?” Walter offered. In the mouth of anyone else, the words would have meant something different. “I usually listen to Bach but silence can certainly be an option too.”

\---

 

Offering his bed to a passenger was not a first occurrence for Walter, but the circumstances had previously been motivated by the importance of attending to injuries or assisting an inebriated member of the crew. The value of the surface materialized right in front of his eyes, as Daniels sat on its edge. His bed—a bed like any bed on the vessel, perhaps smaller and more rigid, less covered, less cushioned—was about to serve its purpose. This was a first. And then, he was reminded of the other passenger.

“Is Tennessee using his original accommodations?”

Daniels nodded. “He said he is not abandoning what he has left of Maggie.” She laughed, “And he’d fight an alien over it.”

A brief thought entered his mind, of him and Daniels sharing his room just like all of the now departed passengers had used to. He’d already found the scene to be strangely domestic, despite his very limited experience with domesticism. It was her presence simply, the way she leaned back on her elbows, watching him with what he detected to be veiled amusement. 

“So what do you do, when we all fall asleep?”

“Not much besides reading and listening to symphonies. I was working on diversifying my tastes.”

Daniels raised an eyebrow. “What, like country music?”

His mind immediately attempted to conjure any information on what he assumed to be a musical genre. Nothing came to him. Nothing except the unclear image of a man wearing a strange hat, very unlike the ones they wore during their expedition.

“Don’t worry about it. In fact, do not ever bother with country music.”

“I am the most objective of judges,” he affirmed, getting an idea, “having had no prior experience.” 

He walked to the small board of commands and spoke softly.

“Mother?”

The screen lit up in a bluish light. 

“What are you doing?” Daniels asked behind him. 

“I apologize. You may want to cover your ears, if the sound is too revolting.” Then, to Mother: “Please, if possible, play a popular country song.”

He closed his eyes, much as he would have done if this had been one of his favourite symphony, and waited. The first notes were difficult to decipher, mainly because they started off in a forlorn mode. Guitar? He had heard Tennessee play the instrument one time, as he was walking past the common room. And then, he remembered the hat he had been wearing at the time-- it had seemed so strange, so out of place in the vessel, much like the old books in his own pristine bookshelf. Walter waited for more, then heard the plaintive voice of the singer—a man, whose voice was rough at times, and yielding at others. No association could be made to the music, no prior experience or image could be conjured up—except perhaps, Tennessee and his hat. 

“It is not unpleasant.” He remarked after a minute. He turned, to find her eyes glued on him, amused and slightly perplexed. “You disapprove, of course.”

She laughed, filling every corner of the room. He instantly felt a rush, a sort of satisfaction, one of the feedback loops in his system satisfied. But it was bigger than a positive reinforcement, a recompense for adequate behavior towards human subjects. Her laughed seeped through his artificial flesh, bit through his processor. 

“I don’t disapprove, no!” She defended, walking to his side. “I just never thought I would see this.”

“An android being partial to country music?”

“No,” and her voice dropped an octave, “you being partial to country music.” Daniels stepped back, sizing him up. “You’ve always been so sophisticated, especially next to us.”

“Is it a good thing? The delivery of your observation gives me cause to doubt.”

“Yes.” The rush through his system was back in full force. “You were so intimidating to me. The first time I saw you, you were reading next to the training room. I don’t know if you remember. That was before we were formally introduced as a team.”

Walter could recall very plainly that non-encounter. He had been dutifully waiting for the crew to complete their first training session. The facility was much like the vessel—very quiet and sterile, at least, in his experience of it. He was absorbed by a copy of Hard Times, awaiting further instructions when the humming of conversations reached his ears. He saw them from his bench, a group of people so unlike everyone else in the facility, all so crisply different from the other in height, age, voices and looks. Even then, in the sensory overload he was experiencing, he noticed her.

“And you sat with one leg crossed and that big book open. I don’t know how to describe it but you just have this composure that makes us all look uncivilized.” He heard her hesitation, the slight shift in her tone, which startled him. “It’s really captivating.”

Their eyes met and once again, he knew something must have been disturbed between them for the second time since she had entered his room. Without thinking, he mimicked her, almost murmuring his words.  
“You find me captivating?” He asked, the country singer’s voice ululating in the background. 

Daniels nodded, then turned away. “It sounds so bad. So bad.” She let out a small laugh. “I don’t think you’re like, something to stare at or anything. I’ve just always admired anyone who has that kind of composure and it’s just majestic and reassuring. Please, stop me from talking.”

“You are captivating too.” He stated, again without measuring neither thought nor word. “To me, that is. Even with my limited experience with humans, I think you are exceptional.”

He automatically moved away, thinking he had to put some distance between them to atone. This was against protocol, he intuitively thought. Yet, the protocol had never applied to him; the rules only addressed the behavior of humans towards him, in the case of inappropriate approach and how to reject it. It was tacitly assumed that he could only ever be at the receiving end of such attention.

"You should sleep," he offered gently. "You need to rest."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. I would appreciate whatever feedback it is in your power to give! This should not be a long fic but I do have a few chapters planned out.


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